The Fortuitous Compatibility Paradox
by DefyGravity18
Summary: Howard and Bernadette's wedding leads to events that will forever change the lives of everyone. Especially Amy Farrah Fowler.
1. The Recollection Narrative

"Amy, I want you to promise me something," My mother said to me one night as she'd tucked me into bed, "I want you to promise me that you will never let anyone take advantage of you." Her blue eyes bore into mine, imploring me, her only child to listen to her.

"What do you mean, Mom?" I'd asked, blinking as she carefully removed my glasses and set them on the night table.

"Just promise me," Mom had answered, swallowing. I'd notice her eyes were sparkling like diamonds. I didn't realize then that she had been on the verge of tears. "You don't know what I'm talking about yet, Amy, but you will. Promise." I'd nodded, unsure of what I was agreeing to at the time.

My mother had gotten up and crossed to my bedroom door, ready to turn out the light when I'd called out to her again.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Amy?"

"What happened to my father?" I'd asked. And I'd seen it immediately on her pale face. The panic. The hurt.

The _fear._

"Amy…" She'd sighed, coming back toward me and clasping her hands together. In the short time I'd been alive, I'd never chanced asking her this question for fear of what she might tell me. It wasn't as if I hadn't noticed that I was fatherless. Quite the contrary, actually. I was a very observant child, a trait which would inevitably carry over into my adult life and, consequently, my professional life in the following years.

"Please, Mom," I'd begged, desperate for some truth after years of silence. In my innocence, I couldn't know how I was wounding her, but I knew I'd won when she'd sat down on the bed again.

"Alright," She'd replied, defeated. "The truth is, Amy, your father was a stranger to me. We met when I was on vacation with my college roommate. The only thing I can tell you is that his name was John, and that he was very handsome. You have his eyes."

"I thought you had to be married to have a baby," I'd pointed out, repeating words that she'd told me herself back to me.

"You _should_ be," She'd agreed, shaking, "But it doesn't always happen that way."

And then, she'd kissed my forehead and handed me my beloved Barbie doll, before turning out my light and leaving the bedroom.

I was eight years old.

Perhaps I should start at the beginning. My mother, Gail, was the sixth child in an _extremely_ Catholic home. She and her siblings were not permitted to play outdoors. The girls wore modest dresses, _never_ pants or shorts. They were not allowed to date. My grandmother didn't even condone the radio for fear of the Devil's influence poisoning her home.

My grandmother is what I would call a fruitcake.

Clearly, my grandparents did not retain as firm a hold on their children as they thought they had perceived. One child committed suicide, two ended up addicted to narcotic drugs, while the remaining three were terrified of my own shadow.

Apparently, they were the lucky ones.

It has become obvious to me, looking back, where my mother's life went wrong. Stifled by her rigid, if not ill-advised upbringing, she had naturally developed the inclination to rebel. So, while she was in her second year of college, she had accompanied her friends to Cozumel, Mexico on the first (and only) vacation of her life. It was there she'd met John.

My father.

He'd charmed the skirt right off of her (literally), and one carefree night of salsa dancing and four margaritas later, she'd woken up alone, never knowing the last name of her lover.

I was the result of that night.

I won't pretend our life was easy. My mother's parents disowned her upon her refusal to abort her bastard, and my mother moved to Glendale to live with her sister, Fran (also unmarried).

My mother was extremely protective of me from the beginning, terrified that something would happen to me. I'm told she checked on me every hour on the hour until I was one year old, upon which she compromised to every three hours. Even in my later childhood years, she was in constant fear of some horrid fate befalling me. We washed our hands often. One sniffle had me sitting in a doctor's office. She was even wary of me making friends, insisting on meeting both child and parent before I could be allowed to associate with said child.

I know she was well intentioned, but at times, I longed for freedom. The other children stopped attempting to befriend me once they'd met my mother. In fact, the only child who would talk to me was a red haired boy named Arthur with exema and a mild case of tourettes. I yearned to be friends with the girls in the pretty dresses who had their Princess themed birthday parties. These same girls would grow up to have boyfriends and be cheerleaders and homecoming queens while I remained a constant outsider.

It was as if life were one long party that I wasn't invited to.

Some girls are meant to sail through life, worrying about nothing more than the clothes they will wear and who they will see. Some girls will find love in an instant, without even trying, because they are beautiful. Or talented. Or rich.

But _some_ of us won't.

Some of us are _none_ of those things. I'm smart, or, I suppose I could be considered brilliant. I have never failed a test. I have never received a detention. By the end of first grade, I had checked out every book in my school library. I could practically recite every word of my science book.

But I'm not beautiful. I have never been kissed. A boy has never looked into my eyes or held my hand.

Please don't misunderstand me. I neither want nor welcome sympathy. These are simply facts.

I sailed through school at the top of my class and, eventually, went on to attend Stanford University as a Biology major. It was there that I fell in love.

With the brain.

The human brain is a vastly complex mass of impulses and dendrites and everything that encompasses the both the human psyche and bodily function. It generates ten to twenty three watts of power while awake. The blood vessels in the brain would unwind to approximately one hundred _thousand_ miles. Nothing had ever enraptured me as much as this essential piece of the human puzzle.

I have long strived to understand what motivates humans to do the things they do. I have long hidden the hurt I feel when I am overlooked. Or ridiculed. I have long pretended that I don't have the same basic needs as any other girl.

Which was why I buried myself into neuroscience, earning a PhD. Hidden away in a lab, I didn't have to deal with the cold rejection of my peers. I didn't have to wonder whether girls who were whispering together were making fun of me. I am not a fool. I realize I am not a fashion minded person. I don't set my hair in rollers every night or wear makeup. I have never been asked on a date.

When I was twenty-three, my mother decided it would be a good idea for me to find a husband. She claimed she wanted me to be happiness, but I know the truth. She doesn't want me to end up like her. And, the truth is, I love my mother dearly, but I don't want to end up like her either.

So, we compromised, and I agreed to go on one date per year. It wasn't an ideal situation, but once I discovered online dating, things became significantly easier. Most of the time, the men I was matched with were either so pathetic that they resorted to wearing toupees to cover the gaping bald spots on their prematurely balding heads, or they lived with their mother, or had vicious eczema, or spent the entire evening text messaging.

Or they took one look at me and left.

I _want_ to be loved. And held. And kissed. I just don't know _how._

This vicious cycle continued until I was twenty-nine years old. By this point I'd given up on finding a boyfriend. I knew in my heart, that nothing would ever come of it even though I kept my membership to please my poor, lonely mother.

Until something _did_ come of it.

I'd gotten up at five-thirty, just as I did every morning. I ate a bowl of Raisin Bran and I read the obituaries in the newspaper, a habit of mine for as long as I could remember. I showered, dressed and began to pack my lunch for work, when I heard the alert for a new email come from my computer.

_You have 1 match(es)_

Preparing myself for either some sort of Spam mail, or a cruel joke, I'd opened the email, prepared for anything.

_Sheldor73_

Sheldor? I have heard some whoppers: Faisal, Winthrup, Orpheus (sadly, I am serious), but _Sheldor?_

But, I cannot deny I was intrigued as I clicked the link to view his profile.

_Sheldon Cooper_

_Pasadena, California_

_Age: 30_

_Occupation: Theoretical Physicist, Cal-Tech_

_Interests: Science, Comic Books, Star Trek, trains._

Trains? Physics? The website was _clearly_ flawed in both design and process. Yet, the picture intrigued me. He was pale, dark haired with light eyes and very thin. He wore a red shirt.

And I was due for a date.

So, I sent him a message to set up a date, and was surprised when I received a response later that day, offering to meet at a coffee shop the following afternoon. I nearly declined, as I neither enjoy nor condone the use of coffee, but curiosity got the better of me and I said yes, that I would meet Sheldon Cooper at Java Jamboree.

That was the day my life changed forever.

He was exactly what I expected. Tall, thin, gangly, pale with a slightly sickly air about him and a haughty look of arrogance on his face.

And he wasn't bald. He had his own apartment. Granted, he was mildly obsessed with superheroes, action figures and trains, but a girl has to make certain sacrifices when she wants some action.

Meeting Sheldon Cooper was the best thing that ever happened to me. Because it led me to the light of my life. The angelic beacon of hope at the end of my dark, lonely tunnel.

_Penny._

For the four months following our first meeting, Sheldon and I spoke on a daily basis. We enjoyed texting, emailing and Skyping. And, even though he never suggested seeing each other in person, suddenly, I wasn't lonely anymore. We told jokes

_What is the name of the first electricity detective?_

_Sherlock Ohms._

We sent each other articles in our related fields. We discussed the inferiority of the simple minded. Things were going wonderfully. We discussed procreation for the sake of science. And then it happened. I received a text message from him on a Thursday evening.

_Amy, my friend Penny has insisted that if we are discussing procreation, that we must go on a proverbial 'first date'. She has consented to accompany us, so you needn't worry about being unchaperoned. What are your thoughts? –Dr. Sheldon Cooper_

I could only stare at my phone in wonder. I had been asked on a date. By a man. Without having to ask first. And that man was a man who I could relate to on an intellectual level. Sure, I was a little out of his league, but I would bide my time with him…for now. I consented immediately, and the following Saturday night, I was picked up by Dr. Cooper and his radiant, golden haired goddess of a friend.

"You must be Amy!" She exclaimed perkily, beaming down at me. I'd frowned, wondering for a brief moment if she was being sincere. The last girl who had been nice to me, had ended up cracking an egg into my hair.

"Yes, I'm Amy Farrah Fowler," I nodded, meeting her eyes squarely, before looking at Sheldon and nodding curtly at him. "Sheldon."

"Amy," He acknowledged as his gorgeous friend glanced between the two of us in what appeared to be disbelief.

"I'm Penny," She went on, holding her hand out to me. I stared at it for a moment, unwilling to believe that she didn't have some ulterior motive. Wanting so badly to believe that she was really as nice as she seemed.

"Amy," Sheldon cut in, glancing warily at his friend, "I must apologize in advance for Penny's overly cheerful demeanor and slightly deranged optimism. She means well, even if she does hail from the hills of Omaha." The girl had given Sheldon an intense glare, balling up her hands into impressive fists. Even furious, she exuded the aura of a fallen angel.

"Watch it, MoonPie," She'd growled.

"No one calls me—"

"Pardon me for interrupting," I'd cut in, feeling a bit out of place, "But it is nearly six-forty five and, as our reservation is for seven P.M., I think it would be prudent for us to leave now."

"Of course," Penny had nodded, looking a little confused as to what I'd said, but she turned back toward her decrepit car. When I'd reached for the door handle to her back seat, she cleared her throat pointedly, making both Sheldon and I look up.

"Are you experiencing sinus difficulties?" I'd asked, "Would you care for a Fisherman's Friend?"

"Huh-wha?" She asked, furrowing her perfectly manicured brows at me.

"Penny," Sheldon sighed, glowering at her over the roof of the car, "Amy is referring to a throat lozenge."

"Oh," Penny replied, managing a smile down at me, "No. Sheldon, aren't you going to open Amy's door for her?" Sheldon and I had met eyes across the car, sharing a look of bemusement.

"Why would I open Amy's door for her? Is she experiencing some sort of difficulty that prevents her from doing so herself?" He asked, "And, furthermore, as you are closer to her than I am at the moment, I would say that the task of opening her door, as it were, falls to you."

"I am perfectly capable of opening my door myself," I insisted, "thank you."

"Oh-_kay_…" Penny had muttered, getting into her car.

As I spent more time with Sheldon, I inevitably became closer to Penny, and her tolerable tiny friend Bernadette. Soon, she and I were inseparable, even sharing a room on a trip. Finally, I had found what I had been seeking for so long.

Friendship.

Even though these boys were emotionally stunted man-children who enjoyed cheap science fiction and comic books, they were my friends. They and these two women had quickly become the closest thing to a family that I could have ever hoped for. It almost made me forget the loneliness of my youth.

Especially Penny.

She was everything I had ever dreamed of being as a young girl. Blonde. Tall. Beautiful. She reminded me of the collection of Barbies I owned that I still cherished. So, I inserted myself into her life without abandon, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I waited for her to tell me to leave her alone. To get a life.

But she didn't.

That's when I realized that friendship isn't supposed to be something you cling to. It's supposed to be easy, effortless…not without trials, but uncomplicated. True friends are the hardest thing in the world to come by. And I don't intend of letting go of that…as long as she (and they) will have me.

It was different with Sheldon. He was complicated and completely obtuse. He knew even less than I did about relationships or human affection. But, I could tell even then he cared about his friends.

Which takes us two years into the future. Sheldon is my boyfriend. He asked me to be his girlfriend. We signed a binding contract.

And yet, sometimes I still feel lonelier than ever, because nothing has really changed other than we have a predetermined "Date Night", and I now own a tiara. (Although, one could argue that the tiara alone is worth being content over.) Sometimes, I feel like Sheldon sees me as nothing but an extension of himself. He obviously enjoys my company, but I've never caught him looking at me. He doesn't touch me often, and we've only kissed three times…during one of which, I was so inebriated that I vomited for the following forty minutes.

It isn't that Sheldon is a cold person. In his heart, he's warm and he has a keen sense of humor. The problem with Sheldon, is he doesn't know _how_ to be outwardly affectionate. He's only intentionally hugged four people in his life. His mother, his sister, his MeeMaw and Penny (only after she gave him a napkin signed and wiped by Leonard Nimoy of Star Trek fame.) He _did_ grudgingly cuddle with me once, when I was distressed about being excluded from a shopping trip.

It was the most touching we've done thus far.

It's funny, but I've gotten further with his small, visually impaired roommate, Leonard. At least _someone's_ felt me up (albeit unintentionally). Leonard accompanied me to a wedding in September. He and I enjoyed a night of wining, dining and the chicken dance. Of course, the poor physically challenged little man pulled his groin, but at least I got a kiss at the end of the evening. Yes, it was on the cheek, but it was more than Sheldon had ever initiated. But, things are going to change around here, because I am done waiting.

Amy wants some sugar, and she's going to get it.


	2. The Parameter Revision Proposal

Today is my big day.

In precisely five hours, I will be a blushing Maid of Honor. Unable to contain my excitement, I am awake by five in the morning, before Bernadette and Penny. It will be the first time I attempt the daunting task of wearing contact lenses. I'd recently decided to take matters into my own hands, and, with a little help from my Bestie, I had learned how to apply mascara (without poking myself in the eye). All of this is, of course, an attempt to urge my twitchy, slightly obsessive compulsive boyfriend into wanting to make a move on me.

It's been five months. Five months since Sheldon interrupted my date with Stuart Bloom and asked me to be his girlfriend in a darkened theatre. It's the stuff fantasies are made of. We then signed a contract dictating the parameters of our new relationship paradigm.

And then, nothing, save for a couple of chaste pecks on the lips (and a tiara).

But it's been _five _months. And _nothing._ When we'd first entered into this new relationship, I'd been so elated by the prospect of _having_ a boyfriend, that I'd been able to overlook the indifference. The aversion to contact. And Sheldon, as brilliant a man as he is, seems almost distant and distracted at times. If he were a different type of person, I would worry that he were attracted to another girl. But this is _Sheldon._

One thing I never have to worry about is that he will be unfaithful. Which is a good thing, because that would immediately terminate the relationship.

_Section 10, Subsection D.: _

_In the event that one party is unfaithful, the relationship shall be terminated and the Relationship Agreement deemed null and void. _

But the truth of the matter is, I am unsure if I could actually terminate the relationship if he _were_ unfaithful. I am almost thirty-one years old. I am in _no_ position to let him get away, even if I'm not entirely sure that he'll ever feel more than mild contentment with me.

I wait until eight, leaving Bernadette asleep in her bed and Penny curled up on the couch while I slip into the small bathroom and start the shower. I decide to take this opportunity to tackle my next opponent.

Contact lenses.

It takes me three tries for the first one. The first time it folds on me. The second, I have a hair on it and the third finally slips in easily and settles into place. It's counterpart, the left lens, is somewhat easier, and I only have to try twice. I'm finally successful after one of my eyelashes falls off and adheres to the delicate lens.

It's certainly an improvement over showering blind. I can actually _see_ what I'm washing.

Just as I'm stepping into the shower, there's a knock at the door, immediately followed by Bernadette's high pitched tone.

"Amy? Penny wanted me to let you know that she's taking Sheldon to the mall for a new suit!" She calls, muffled through the door. I pause in confusion, turning toward the closed door.

"What happened to his black suit?" I inquire, wondering for a brief awful moment why he hasn't even attempted to contact me, his girlfriend.

"Um, I don't know!" Bernadette responds, "But Penny said to tell you not to worry and that she'll be back in a bit." I absently bite my lip and push the nerves in the pit of my stomach down, stepping into the warm spray of Bernadette's less than satisfying shower. The water pressure is weak and the water never really gets hot, so I make it short and sweet.

Like Leonard.

Recently, it almost seemed like Sheldon and I were making progress in the slow crawl toward affection, when I finally broke down and asked Penny how to make Sheldon want me. She suggested spaghetti with little hot dogs mixed in it, which I found to be somewhat juvenile and pandering to Sheldon's inability to mature beyond the age of eleven. I'd briefly thought she might be joking, but Sheldon's gleeful reaction proved that my Bestie is a reliable resource when it comes to useful information about Sheldon.

But somehow, hot dog spaghetti and Star Trek role playing aren't enough. If we are becoming closer, then why do I feel like I am fighting a losing battle with something I don't quite understand? What is that thing that is holding him back from trusting me enough to take a leap of faith?

I almost _wish_ it were another girl that was stealing his attention, because as it stands now, the blame falls solely on my inability to keep him interested. Are all relationships this complicated and difficult?

Somehow, I don't think so.

By the time I am out of the shower and have brushed my teeth, Penny has returned from her trip to the mall to buy a suit for my boyfriend. And I'm still feeling that roiling, flipping unease in my gut, even though I manage to grin at her.

"Hey Bestie," I say, indicating to her that I am not wearing glasses. Her perfectly sculpted brows rise approvingly as she nods, smiling.

"Cute!" Her light green eyes flit to Bernadette, who is sitting fretfully on the bed, biting her lip and still staring forlornly at her dress. "Okay girls! We have to get to the salon," Penny claps her hands, probably to get Bernadette's attention. She has the attention span of a gnat sometimes, which is no doubt a result of her tiny stature and her preoccupation with the deadly diseases she studies.

I've never been to a hair salon before. At least, never one like this. The pungent odor of hair product and die, mixed with a floral aroma fills my nostrils and is almost overwhelming at first. It does ease after a few moments, but never really leaves. I am shown into a chair, where an overly perky girl with short, spiked blue (yes _blue_) hair waits for me, popping her bright pink bubble gum.

"Hi! I'm Tasha!" She chirps at me in a saccharine voice.

"Amy," I tell her uncomfortably, climbing into the chair and watching in the mirror as she gently moves my head this way and that, moving the long locks around and off my shoulders.

"You have a stunning face, Amy," Tasha tells me, bobbing her head as she moves around me. "What I'm thinking is curls…all curls…we use the length, pull part of it back and let your hair become part of the ensemble."

"And you think that will look attractive?" I ask, unsure of what I'm agreeing to. Tasha's smile widens. She reminds me of a pre-school child who's had too many sweets. I glance at Penny, who is effortlessly chatting the ear off of the obviously homosexual man who is fluffing the front of her glorious mane of blonde hair.

Ah, to be a hair on that head.

Well, if she can do it, so can I. So, I turn back to my own hairdresser and manage a smile.

"I want to make a man notice me tonight," I confess, watching her dark eyes light up with excitement.

"Don't worry, Sweetie! By the time I'm through with you, _all_ the men will notice you," She smiles, and I notice for the first time, a gleam of genuine kindness in her eyes. She's not at all the vapid, insipid creature I deemed her to be. Since befriending Penny, I've slowly come to learn that not all pretty girls are wretched, hateful beings. Some of them, are just like the rest of us inside. Broken and human.

I think it's part of what draws me to Penny. She's outwardly flawless (no one could dispute that fact), but at her core, she is like me. A girl who wants to be treated with respect and taken seriously. Even if we are miles apart in fields of work and some common interests, we are the same.

It gives me hope. Because if I'm half as wonderful as Penny, I may have _half_ a chance at being happy someday. That is, _if_ I can get Sheldon to come around.

"…couldn't even invite my own priest," Mrs. Rostenkowski is saying to my left (her voice carries just like her undersized daughter), "I couldn't bear the thought of Father Andrews watching little Bernie marry a," her voice drops precariously, "a _Jew._"

"Mom! _Enough!_" Bernadette hisses from the other side of me, glaring at her mother from beneath her rollers. "Whether you like it or not is irrelevant! Howard is a wonderful man, and I would gladly drop the damn Catholic—"

"_Okay!"_ Penny interrupts, obviously seeing the need to stop this before it escalates into some sort of munchkin free for all. "Who wants Mimosas?" She sings, waving an attendant over. "Load 'em with champagne," she mutters to the girl, who notices the tension and nods in understanding.

"Your keen timing and comprehension of handling a difficult situation never cease to amaze me, Bestie," I inform her. She winks at me, taking a long sip of her Mimosa, before heading back to Anton, her stylist.

Tasha turns my chair so that I am facing away from the mirror while she applies my makeup. It seems to take forever as she adds layer after layer of powders and creams. Open my eyes. Close my eyes. Don't blink. Pucker my lips. It all seems like more trouble than it's worth, doesn't it?

And then, she turns me around and, for the first time, I _feel_ beautiful. That person staring back at me isn't the Amy I saw an hour ago. She's exotic, and mysterious and lovely.

She's _me._

The purple and burgundy hues that Tasha used to compliment my bridesmaid dress compliment the blue of my eyes becomingly, and all I can do is stare silently at my new reflection, waiting for my heart to start beating again. Waiting for my brain to resume activity. It's actually Penny who brings me back to my senses.

"Oh. My. _God."_ I hear her say from behind me. Vaguely, realize, she's standing right behind my chair, staring slack jawed at the mirror. Bernadette looks equally taken aback. "Amy, you look…"

"I know," I reply, gingerly touching a single mahogany ringlet. I can scarcely believe it's my hair. We all gather our things and take a picture together, before heading to the hall where Bernadette will legally bind herself to the small, tightly panted Not-Doctor Howard Wolowitz. Upon leaving the car, I immediately find myself facing the immovable Mrs. Wolowitz. And by immovable, I do mean _immovable. _She's the size of a Mini Cooper, or, at the very least, a Smart Car.

"Well aren't you as pretty as a peach?" She practically screams into my ear, making it ring.

"Thank you," I manage to mutter just as she catches a glimpse of Bernadette and pulls the miniscule bride into her suffocating embrace. I nearly feel sorry for her, but I cannot deny that I am so glad it's not me clutched in the fleshy prison of those arms. I dart into the shaded doorway of the hall and collide directly with someone else, nearly toppling to my face. Luckily, I am caught around the waist before I can collapse.

"Sorry!" I hear the gentle male voice, and instantly recognize Leonard's voice. I turn around and notice his pale, stricken face. "Are you okay?" He asks, making sure I haven't ripped anything or hurt myself.

"I'm slightly flustered, and more than a little disturbed by the death grip Mrs. Wolowitz has on Bernadette, but other than that, I think I'll manage," I assure him, giving a curt nod and starting to turn away. Until I notice the defeated sag of his shoulders.

Damn.

"Are _you_ okay, Leonard?" I question, watching him cringe with a keen eye. He shakes his head, indicating that no; he is not 'okay.'

"Been better," He murmurs, meeting my eyes.

"I know what you mean," I tell him, "I am experiencing some stomach distress, due to the Mimosa I drank while having my hair done."

"I just…" He runs an agitated hand through his mop of dark hair, "Priya is engaged…to the man she cheated on me with."

"I see," I tell him, thinking of the gorgeous Indian woman who used to be his girlfriend. I suppose I can see where he would be a little upset. Of course, she's no _Penny,_ but then again, none of us are. But, I have no idea how to help Leonard, so I simply watch mutely as he mutters a goodbye and leaves me standing alone.

A pair of sturdy hands on my shoulder makes me jump violently, as I turn to see Penny smiling down at me.

"All set?" She asks, guiding me into the room where a few women are gathered. I squint in confusion for a moment, noticing two girls huddled around Mrs. Rostenkowski. The one is quite obviously a sister of Bernadette, but the other…I'm nearly ready to ask Bernadette why she's wearing a bridesmaids' dress and what happened to her hair, when it dawns on me.

That isn't Bernadette.

"Ho-ly _shit,"_ I hear Penny utter from beside me, gaping at the identical counterpart to the tiny bride, who I'm praying hasn't been smothered in the rippling stomach rolls of Howard's mother. "You didn't mention you were a twin, Bernadette," Penny says, turning to look at the _real_ Bernadette, who gives a dismissive giggle.

"Oh yeah," she waves her hand, "_that."_ Mr. Rostenkowski enters the room in all his intimidating glory, and Penny meets my eyes, nodding toward the door to indicate that we should give the family some privacy.

It's outside that I find Sheldon, looking unmistakably handsome in his black suit with his dark hair combed neatly. And, as I approach him, a new feeling washes over me. Like I know this is going to be a goodbye of sorts, even though I'm hoping I'm wrong. He nods approvingly at me.

"I must say, Amy Farrah Fowler," he begins, "you're looking rather winsome this afternoon." It almost makes me relax, until I see his eyes flicker just past me for the briefest of moments. In fact, it's so quickly, that it wouldn't be noticeable unless one were particularly observant…which I, unfortunately, am. I don't have to turn around to know who he's looking at.

"That's so sweet," I tell him, fighting the urge to wince. "Sheldon, you and I need to discuss something—"

"Ames, we have to line up," Penny tells me, gently grabbing my arm and glaring viciously at Sheldon, shaking her head in obvious disapproval. Clearly, she's noticed something is wrong too, though I doubt she noticed what I did. But, it's not the first time, and I know it won't be the last.

_Section 10, Subsection D. _

It rings through my mind in an unfair echo, along with every insecurity I ever felt as a child and as a young woman.

_You'll never be good enough._

_No one will ever love you. _

_You'll never be the first choice…_

No. I refuse to be consumed by these unhealthy thoughts. Maybe I will never be tall, or athletic…or blonde. But I am worth _something._ I am attractive…at least the mirror today told me I am. I am smart. I am one of the most gifted minds in the field of neuroscience.

I will prevail.

Taking my bouquet, I stand behind the tall couple in front of me, not allowing myself to stare at anything in particular. I steel myself against the betraying sting of what feel dangerously like tears. Then again, maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe all this distress is for naught, and I'm making myself feel worse. I almost wish Raj were back here to walk me down the aisle, because my legs suddenly feel like rubber as I start down the aisle in two inch heels. I glance at Sheldon, who is absently checking his watch, before my eyes fall on his much shorter roommate. And suddenly, I know exactly how Leonard feels.

It feels almost like I was punched in the gut.

We lock eyes for a second, understanding each other, before I take my place beside Penny, gripping my flowers so hard that I can feel my fingernail break into the fragile texture of the stems.

I barely even notice when the ceremony is over and the minister pronounces Howard and Bernadette husband and wife. I barely notice when Penny urges me to take Raj's arm and follow the pair toward the room where we are going to sign the marriage paperwork. I barely notice when I'm introduced as the Maid of Honor with Raj as the Best Man.

But I notice Sheldon's face tighten when I ask him if I can speak to him in private after the Bridal Party dance.

"Are you well, Amy?" Sheldon asks, watching me warily, as if I might implode on him, or burst into a fire breathing dragon with menstrual cramps at any moment. (Because women only menstruate and complain.)

"Proposal," I tell him diplomatically, "I propose that we make an amendment to the Relationship Agreement dictating the parameters of physical affection up to, and including, coitus." I see his eyes widen in horror for a moment, before he swallows and regains his composure.

"Counterproposal," he replies quickly, paling (even more than usual), "I allow you to hold my hand for one quarter hour and we partake in _one_ dance."

"No," I shake my head, bristling with adrenaline and frustration, "Kissing, with tongue, and second base over the clothes."

"Absolutely not!" He exclaims, recoiling as he flattens himself against the wall, as if willing himself to teleport _through _it. If he could ask Scotty to 'beam him up,' no doubt he would have done so by now. "We dance and one kiss. Closed mouth." I open my mouth to relent, somewhat mollified that I've at least broken some ground, when I see it again. His eyes pass over my head, watching something for a moment.

And that's when something I can't identify comes over me.

I'm _done_ waiting. This nonsense ends _tonight, _come Hell or high water. And I'm not losing this argument, Relationship Agreement be damned.

"My original request stands," I inform him firmly, balling my fists against my fear and the onslaught of devastation, "we amend the Relationship Agreement to include provisions for physical affection, including and _especially, _coitus." I fold my arms, glaring at him pointedly and watching as his eye begins to twitch while he clasps and unclasps his hands nervously.

"You're being unreasonable, Amy," He murmurs, glowering at me. It only serves to make the unpleasant sensation in my chest expand.

"_Am_ I?" I challenge. "I have waited five _months_, and been kissed twice. Both times in which _I_ did the initiating. I am thirty-one years old, Sheldon. I'm not asking you to profess your love for me. I don't need you to marry me. But, I have come to realize that one can_not_ survive on intellect alone. I will give you until morning to ponder your response." With that, I leave him to his ever active thoughts, and stalk to the head table, where I sit and pick at the remains of my barely eaten dinner.

I notice Penny chatting with Stuart and looking a little like she'd like to find a reason to leave him, but she politely manages to nod at him and smile. It's a characteristic I don't possess, her ability to pretend to be engaged in what someone else is saying, no matter how droll.

She's like a perky guardian angel.

I notice her glance over at us, nodding at something Stuart is droning on about, when I see Sheldon step between them, and I have to tear my eyes away, unable to watch. That's when I notice I'm not alone. Leonard has slumped into the chair beside me with his head in his hands.

"Some wedding, huh?" He groans, glancing up as I shrug, spearing a potato with my fork.

"I'd rather be having a root canal," I agree, dropping the fork and pushing the plate aside, feeling sick to my stomach.

"You too, eh?" Leonard sighs, quirking his lips upward wryly. "Not as much fun as the _last_ wedding I went to, but what can I do?" He is, of course, referring to the wedding we attended together in September. Another of my failed attempts to make Sheldon jealous.

"Well, they have to play the Chicken Dance sometime," I say, feeling myself smile despite the growing dread in my body.

"We had fun, didn't we?" He says, sighing again and looking as lost as I feel.

"Once you stopped bitching about your long distance relationship and gathered your wits, it did end up being quite an enjoyable evening. Even after you pulled your groin," I add, unable to keep the smirk of remembrance off my face. "Are you going to sit here moping all night, or do you want to talk about it?" His face falls, and he begins to move food around on his own plate.

"I did everything right," he tells me, "I was patient with her. I didn't tell her I loved her after two minutes of dating. I was supportive of her moving back home and dating long distance. I confessed to kissing another woman…and she didn't _care._ Because what she did was even worse. And now, I have _no _chance of getting her back."

"No offense, Leonard," I begin, leveling an assessing gaze on him, "but even though Priya possessed the sexuality of ten goddesses, she wasn't right for you. She never accepted you as you were. She attempted to change you. In my professional opinion, you're better off." His eyes soften for a moment, and he tilts his head at me tiredly.

"What's your personal opinion?" He asks curiously, making me bite my bottom lip, before I grin at him.

"Priya's a bitch." This does the trick, he bursts out laughing and I feel the slightest bit better. After a moment, he pulls it together and gestures to me.

"Your turn. Do you want to talk about it?" He asks. I shake my head, but he gives me a scolding look over his glasses. "Uh uh…that's not how this works, Amy. I go, you go."

"Fine," I exhale deeply, gathering my courage, "Sheldon and I had an argument. I insisted we change the parameters of our relationship to include physical intimacy." Leonard's eyes widen momentarily and he winces.

"Didn't go so well, huh?"

"For _him_, maybe," I retort, feeling the same frustration I felt earlier. I can't tell him what I've noticed today. Not after everything he's been through this past year. "I'm giving him until morning, but I think we both know where this is headed."

"If it's any consolation, he's no easier to be friends with," Leonard offers tiredly, and I turn to see Penny dragging Sheldon toward the bar by the sleeve. It kind of looks like she's berating him, and I have a feeling it has to do with me even if I can't say how I know that. I just do. "Did I ever tell you about the time Sheldon took his pants off and ended up on YouTube?"

"What?" I ask, coming out of my miserable haze and staring blankly at the small man sitting beside me.

"Oh yeah…he won an award. And he doesn't like speaking in front of a crowd. He's terrified of being trampled," he tells me, and I nod.

"A reasonable worry," I concede.

"We all tried to help, but he's a little hopeless when it comes to help. So, to calm him down, Penny gave him some wine. That was when we were—" He cuts off, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thought, "Well, Sheldon doesn't drink. So two glasses and he was _gone._ He started cracking offensive jokes and singing songs and then, he…pantsed himself." Leonard begins laughing as he speaks, "And then, he told everybody to get ready to see the dark side of the moon and…and…" He clutches his side, wheezing as he chuckles, "and then he said, 'and _here's _Uranus!' And he bent over and he…he…"

That's when I break. I feel it start low in my stomach, rumbling quietly, but as he continues to chortle, I feel it rise up to the top and bubble over and I'm bent over a second later, laughing too because I can see it. Because it's _so_ Sheldon. And all of the tension kind of melts away, if only temporarily. It's the best I've felt all night.

Hell, it's the best I've felt all _year._

When I look up, the lights have dimmed and the music has slowed. Leonard and I stop guffawing long enough to exchange looks. A new expression comes onto his face, and I can see he's feeling the same kinship we felt at the wedding in September.

"Come on," he says, extending his hand to me, "dance with me." I stare at his proffered hand for a few moments, both bemused and terrified. And I don't know why, but when I look up, he's still smiling at me with warm, dark eyes. And I suppose I realize for the first time that Leonard is a handsome man. Perhaps not a classically beautiful specimen, but in his own way, he's terribly appealing. And he's so inherently _good._ It comes off of him in waves; surrounding me and making me feel like I'm the most important person in the room.

So, I take his hand.

Neither of us says a word as he pulls me into his arms, closer than Sheldon has ever held me, and presses our cheeks together as we sway to the slow, dreamlike music in a strange trance-like state. I feel dizzy, but I'm not spinning. Essentially, we're just rocking back and forth. It isn't until I feel him squeeze my fingers, that I draw in a sharp breath and realize that I'm not breathing. And the song is over.

Without a word, I carefully pull my fingers away from his and back away, seeking refuge from the assault of confusion and terror I feel. I want nothing more than to go home and bury my face in my pillow and sob. I retreat behind the speaker and take small, panting breaths, gasping as I attempt to calm myself down again.

What just happened?

_It was nothing…just your imagination. Nothing happened. _

"Amy, are you alright?" Leonard's voice comes from behind me. I squeeze my eyes closed, praying he leaves me be.

"I just…" I search for an excuse, "my contact is bothering me." I turn to see him staring at me in concern.

"Are you sure?" He implores sincerely, "You seemed a little—"

"Just leave me be," I beg, swallowing the lump in my throat. He freezes when I turn toward him, like he's been knocked on the head with a frying pan. It unnerves me, provoking me to glare at him. "What?"

"It just…Amy, you're really beautiful. Do you know that?"

"Leonard," I sigh, suppressing the urge to rub my temple in exhaustion, "you're hurting, you're vulnerable and you don't have to say things that you don't mean to make me feel better. I am not weak willed. I will live without false compliments."

"Why do you do that?" He asks, sounding angry now, "How can you praise someone like Penny so highly, yet fail to see your own worth? Your own _beauty?_" He demands, his voice rising with the last syllable. He points his finger at the mirrored wall behind me. "_Look_," he commands, taking me by the shoulders and turning me to look at my reflection, "you are _beautiful._ And Sheldon is an idiot." I turn to look at him, but I don't get a chance to say anything in return, because Leonard takes my face into his hands and moves closer to me, covering my mouth tenderly with his.

Leonard Hofstadter is kissing me.


	3. The Copulation Element

Leonard Hofstadter is kissing me.

And I'm enjoying it. That is, I'm assuming I am considering my arms are somewhat locked around Leonard's neck and I _could_ possibly have one of my hands tangled in his thick hair. That's the moment that I realize that I have a _boyfriend._ Yes, said boyfriend may be distracted by a gorgeous blonde with a perfectly rounded bottom and a glowing tan, but for all intents and purposes, _I,_ Amy Farrah Fowler, am still Sheldon's girlfriend.

"I'm sorry!" Leonard gasps, wrenching away and letting go of me abruptly. Instantly, I turn to look for Sheldon and can't see him anywhere. My stomach drops and I can feel my face fall.

"I need to find—"

"Yeah," Leonard agrees, looking slightly sick to his stomach, "Maybe he's outside." When he holds his hand out to me, I shake my head with wide eyes and cross my arms as we pass an obviously intoxicated Raj talking to Bridget Rostenkowski about Egyptian cotton and thread count.

That man is one rainbow sticker away from coming out of the proverbial closet.

Leonard grabs Howard (who is in the middle of doing the Hustle) by the arm, much to his obvious protest.

"Leonard!" He whines, "I was just getting warmed up!"

"Have you seen Sheldon?" Leonard asks, ignoring the obvious complaint.

"No," Howard grumbles, glancing longingly back at the dance floor, "I'm _trying_ to have a good time." His eyes flit over to me. "No offense," He remedies.

"None taken," I assure him coolly.

"Sheldon left!" Bernadette's somewhat shrill voice comes from behind Howard. "I just saw he and Penny walk out and get into a cab!"

"_Together?"_ Leonard cries, looking sideways at me as a horrible pain spreads through my chest while Bernadette nods, giving Howard a nervous look. He simply looks confused.

"He _probably _bullied Penny into giving him a ride home," Howard explains impatiently, looking rather surly now that his beloved Hustle has ended. "It's Sheldon," He adds, rolling his eyes. Horrified, Bernadette elbows him in the ribs and gives me an apologetic look.

"Howie!" She scolds, making him remember that I (Sheldon's girlfriend) am standing there, too.

"Oh, sorry," He winces, "No offense."

"Again, none taken," I respond dryly, wanting nothing more than to tear out of the room and hide in the bathroom like I did during the Sadie Hawkins dance my Sophomore year of high school, when the head cheerleader thought it would be funny to pour a glass of punch down the back of my dress. Forgetting Howard's bored stare and Bernadette's panicked eyes, I turn to Leonard with a feeling I can only identify as dread boiling in the pit of my stomach. "You don't think they saw…?" I hear myself whisper, watching the color leave his face.

"Saw what?" Howard interjects, now interested. Ignoring him, Leonard shakes his head.

"No, I don't think so. Penny is probably drunk and Sheldon hates social functions," Leonard assures me, "I remember the first Halloween she was living in the building she had a party and she made a move on…" He stops with a slight gasp before finishing, "…me. Uh, oh."

"Uh oh? What-oh?" Howard chirps like a little parrot, looking between us with large curious eyes.

"You _know_ what happens when Penny gets drunk," Leonard reminds him, "that Halloween, after Kurt and…she came over and…and then last May with Raj, she…she…_oh_ boy..." Shakily, he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and retrieves his inhaler, proceeding to use it.

"Leonard," I sigh impatiently, "You're not making any sense. You're rambling. Please do spit it out." Pushing up his glasses, he shares a knowing look Howard (who also appears worried).

"This is ridiculous!" Bernadette shrieks in irritation. "Penny is _not_ going to hit on Sheldon! And even if she _did_, which she _won't_, he would never allow it!" Her eyes are blazing at us, "He would never break his contract with Amy!" She then stamps her foot, looking like a child throwing the temper tantrum (and oddly, like my chimps when they don't get their way). "Now _enough! _This is my _wedding,_ and I want to have _fun!_ So, _knock _it off!" The two men just stare at her slack-jawed, but I'm a little preoccupied at the moment as nausea nearly causes me to double over and wretch as I realize what she just said.

_He would never break his contract with Amy!_

Is that all I _am_ to him? I'm just another contract in Sheldon Cooper's life. An obligation. A nuisance. Something to distract him from what he actually feels. I shake my head to deny this to myself, but my instincts are telling me that it's true. That I'll never be anything but _convenient_ to Sheldon.

"Amy?" Leonard's gentle voice breaks into my thoughts and I slowly realize I'm backing toward the door to the lobby, desperate for an escape.

"I-I…I can't…" I blink rapidly, my contact lenses now burning my eyes. Or perhaps, I'm crying. I can't tell. "I have to go." That's when I turn and run, bearing out of the reception hall and into the quiet lobby, collapsing on a bench and burying my face in my hands. "I want to go home," I say, feeling my chest ache as I stare down into my lap.

"I have my car," Leonard sighs, holding his hand out to me, "Come on. I'll drive you home." I stare at his hand, held out the same way he'd held it out only a little while ago when he asked me to dance, and I feel the same mix of confusion and fear.

"But I'm the maid of honor," I insist, wiping futilely at my eyes, "I can't leave early."

"Amy," Leonard's voice is sympathetic as he sits beside me, "I am so sorry for taking advantage of you that way. You need to know that I did not mean to make you uncomfortable in there, and I—"

"Leonard, I'm not upset because of what happened between us," I answer, cutting him off and looking over into his worried eyes. "I'm upset because…" But I can't say it aloud. I can't even bring myself to _think_ it. All I know is, once again, I'm left standing out in the cold and the one person who I thought understood me, is gone.

"You're upset, because you thought Sheldon was the one, but you're starting to realize that no matter how much you try to hold onto him, he's never going to be the one you need. I know the feeling, believe me." Leonard's eyes flash with something new. Because he's hit the nail on the head, and I know I've been denying this for a long time. I told myself that all he needed was time to warm up to me. All while denying the truth of the matter. Sheldon is possibly already in love with someone…other than himself.

But there's no way I'm going to say that to Leonard, so I just nod at him.

"You're referring to your failed attempt at a renewed relationship with Penny this spring, aren't you?" I reply, brushing a stray curl out of my face. Wincing, he shrugs, but I can see that it still hurts him. Not that I could blame him. Having and losing a woman like Penny could drive even the sanest of men to depression. And I don't blame her. It isn't her fault that she is possibly the most appealing woman on the planet.

"You could say that," he mutters, running a hand through his hair, before looking back up at me again. "Do you want to get out of here?" I bite my lower lip for only a moment, before nodding and standing.

"Yes," I tell him, wrapping my arms around myself. A moment later, his suit jacket is draped over my shoulders, vaguely smelling of his pleasant cologne. I follow him out to the parking lot, silently grateful that he'd had the foresight to drive himself to the hall. I'm stranded. My car is at my apartment, because Penny picked me up yesterday for Bernadette's bachelorette party. It's what I admire about Leonard, his reliability and his level head. Sheldon, while a brilliant man, is slightly overwhelming and arrogant. He has a tendency to put himself before (most) others.

The ride home is mercifully short and, to my surprise, Leonard insists on walking me upstairs to my apartment. Again, I experience a strange Déjà vu, because it feels very similar to the last time we came home from a wedding together. He'd given me a kiss on the cheek and thanked me. I like Leonard. He's a little pedantic at times, but he is brilliant in his own subtle way. I don't know very much about his strained relationship with his mother, who is one of the most noted neurobiologists in the country, but he is a fascinating individual. He's a perfect case study for the nature versus nurture argument.

But I could never think of Leonard that way.

Leonard is, above all, my _friend. _And I could never dismiss my friend as an experiment. I've met his mother. Dr. Beverly Hofstadter spoke at a conference I attended a few years ago, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. She is a brilliant mind, and an eloquent speaker, but as far as envisioning her as a mother…I can't see it. Still, knowing about her has helped me to understand Leonard. I can't help but wonder how he would react to unconditional love, an emotion which has always baffled and astounded me.

"You're quiet," Leonard muses when the elevator reaches the third floor and opens.

"I suppose I just have nothing of use to say," I sigh, clutching his coat around me and feeling an unfamiliar feeling of dread at the prospect of being alone tonight.

"Yeah," he agrees, "it's been a long night…" We stop, having reached my door and stand staring at each other for a moment. "Well, I should—"

"Do you want to come in for a nightcap?" I blurt, reaching back and clutching the doorknob. I don't know why I'm suddenly so nervous. Maybe it's because the only person who has ever come in for a nightcap is across town, most likely seated on his couch beside a gorgeous, slightly tipsy blonde.

"You know, I'd love that," Leonard surprises me by saying as I manage to get the door open and practically stumble in, nearly getting the key stuck in the lock as I do.

"Just make yourself at home," I tell him, kicking off my heels and sighing in relief as my aching feet thank me. Moving into the kitchen, I bite my lip and tear my eyes off of the Nestle Strawberry Qwik powder, wincing. "I have Yoohoo, if you'd rather not drink something alcoholic, or I have Peppermint Schnapps."

"That sounds perfect," Leonard interjects, "I could do with a little alcohol in my system." He gingerly takes the bottle out of my trembling hands when I bring it to the sofa, where he's sitting. "I think you could too," he adds. I quickly retrieve two plastic cups and sit beside him, allowing him to fill mine. I'm not an avid fan of Peppermint Schnapps. Penny actually bought the bottle for me for Christmas last year. The only time it's been opened, was _during_ the Christmas part I received it at, and Penny was the one who had the drink. That Christmas party was one of the few times in our five month relationship, when Sheldon and I actually kissed.

Bottoms up!

I take a long swig of the Schnapps, which burns my throat and chest as it goes down, making me wince. I can hear Leonard chuckle, sipping his own.

"That bad, huh?" He teases, setting his drink aside while I take another, equally long drink.

"Penny says that Schnapps is the cure to all sadness," I mutter, setting it aside and clasping my hands in my lap, staring miserably at the purple satin of my dress. Leonard looks just as unhappy, and it makes me grin wryly for a moment at just how pathetic the two of us are. Sitting on my couch, drinking Peppermint Schnapps and lamenting our failed love lives.

"Tell me something, Amy," Leonard murmurs, cutting into my thoughts, "Have you ever had a boyfriend besides Sheldon?"

"Well," I begin pragmatically, "I have a fiancé is Saudi Arabia who has helped to finance much of my research, but—"

"No," Leonard shakes his head, "That doesn't count. I mean, someone you went on dates with and held hands with…you know, other than Sheldon?" I think about this for a moment, because the answer is obviously 'No.' That's not the issue. The issue is that even Sheldon and I have barely even established romance in our relationship. I can only shake my head, and feel like a socially inept perpetual wallflower, because my own boyfriend doesn't even want to be near me. Quietly, we both take another drink and I drain the contents of my cup, feeling my face flush with pleasant heat.

"Do you have anything stronger than this?" He asks, making a face as he sets his own empty glass down. I shake my head.

"I have some Kahlua, but I usually just put that over ice cream," I explain, feeling slightly embarrassed by the fact that I have nothing better to offer Leonard. Until recently, there was no need. The strongest thing Sheldon drinks is Mountain Dew, and even that is mostly reserved for special occasions…such as beating a video game. I close my eyes and squeeze the thought from my mind, not wanting to think about him anymore.

"I can't have ice cream," Leonard laments, sighing and pushing his glasses up, "Lactose intolerant."

"Tough break," I nod, not feeling particularly sympathetic at the moment as I pour myself another glass of booze.

"Boy," he starts, refilling his glass, "We're a couple of sad sacks, huh?" I can't even find the strength to respond, drinking again. Thankfully, my head is starting to feel a little fuzzy and it's a nice escape. "Okay," he starts again, staring at me contemplatively, "I have a proposal for you. We ask each other one question that we _have_ to answer completely honestly."

"What are the parameters of this proposal?" I ask, frowning at him, even if I can't quite find the resolution to worry. "Do we need to approach a certain subject, or can it be anything at all?"

"Anything you want," Leonard insists, setting his drink aside and leaning against the side of the couch to face me. "I'll go first if you're unsure."

"Very well," I tell him, clasping my hands and pursing my lips as I adjust the skirt of my dress.

"How old were you when you had your first kiss?" He asks, tilting his head at me. I can feel my face flush what is most likely a deep pink color. I probably look like a strawberry with ringlets. Swallowing my pride, I hold my head high and stare into his twinkling, coffee colored eyes.

"Thirty," I confess in a low, even voice. Leonard's eyes widen and then refocus as he realizes the implications of what I've just revealed. His mouth falls open for a moment and he looks slightly ashamed of himself, as if he's realized he's hurt me. But he hasn't. I'm not angry. It isn't Leonard's fault that I have no romantic history outside of Dr. Sheldon Cooper.

"Sheldon?" He whispers, sounding completely mortified. I can't understand why he's so surprised by this. It's not difficult to deduce why. Perhaps I am slightly more bodacious and outgoing than I once was, but it doesn't change the fact that I am still, and will forever be, a frumpy, sheltered wallflower with little to no social skills and a passion for the human brain. So, in response to his question, I nod.

"I suppose it is now my turn," I murmur, "If you had to give up physics for anything in the world, what would it be?" I know I've shocked him with this question. No doubt he was expecting me to ask about Penny. Not that I haven't considered the notion, but for some reason, I suddenly feel like I don't know enough about _Leonard,_ and I want to.

"Honestly?" Leonard replies, shrugging helplessly. "A family. As you've probably guessed, I don't have the greatest relationship with my own. My sister is very much like my mother…she's driven and determined to succeed in her field. My brother is younger…he's a lawyer, and he's enjoying being young and successful. My father is living with a woman who works at an Applebee's and my mother is very fond of…herself. None of them has ever had much time for me."

"I know your mother," I tell him quietly, "I met her at a conference and spoke briefly with her. She is a brilliant woman."

"Thoroughly," Leonard agrees sadly, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Sometimes, at the expense of others." And I see. I see that much of Dr. Beverly Hofstadter's controversial approach to parenting was used on her middle child. Suddenly, I feel lucky. My mother, however misguided and hesitant, was never cruel or cold. She hugged me. Tucked me in. Read me stories. Praised me when I excelled. I am completely taken aback by the new lump in my throat as I suppress the urge to call her and tell her how much I appreciate that.

"You are a brilliant man, Leonard," I tell him, perhaps less inhibited due to the amount of alcohol I've consumed as I cover his hand with mine, "You must know that."

"Amy, I don't need you to reassure me. I've moved past my childhood and my wasted family relationship," He insists. But he hasn't. It's plain as day, still sparkling in his sad, dark eyes.

"My mother always tells me that everyone deserves to be loved," I nervously fidget with my own hand, "I think, because she never has. I don't have a father," I admit, swallowing. This is something I haven't even shared with Sheldon. "I was the result of a drunken encounter with a stranger." Leonard gasps audibly, staring at me, slack jawed. "It was her first and only."

"Jesus," Leonard mutters, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," I tell him honestly, "As I've never know what it was to have a paternal influence in my life, I can hardly regret never knowing my father."

"I guess not," he nods, and we fall silent again.

"Leonard," I heard myself say, moving closer to him, "Will you do something for me?"

"Of course," He nods, reaching for his drink and lifting it to his mouth.

"Will you engage in intercourse with me?" I ask, making him choke violently.

"Uh, sorry?" Leonard asks, obviously wondering if he's heard me correctly.

"Sex, Leonard," I repeat, raising an eyebrow at him. "Some people refer to it as 'making love', though I can't really justify categorizing it as such—"

"Amy, you don't know what you're saying," He tells me, taking my hand between his and squeezing it reassuringly. "Sex should be something you share with someone you care about. Especially your first time."

" Leonard, I am nearly thirty-one years old. Until last year, I had never even been kissed. My window of opportunity is running out, and if I continued to wait on Sheldon, I'd be waiting forever." I feel my voice catch a little bit as I continue, "Quite frankly, it's long past due. And you and I…"

"Weirdly make sense…" Leonard finishes softly, staring at me with a new look in his eyes. "_We_ kind of make _sense."_

"Oh, don't make a scene," I scold, unable to hide my sudden smirk, "it's just sex, Leonard."

"Are you _sure?_" He asks again, picking at his sleeve absently, "Because if you weren't, I could never forgive—"

"Leonard," I sigh, impatiently, "_Stop_ over thinking things." I don't give him a chance to respond as I take his face into my shaking hands and close my eyes, pressing my lips to his for the second time tonight. And it's just as terrifying and wonderful as it was the first time. He doesn't pull away, instead bringing me closer to him by the waist, making my heart beat faster than it ever has. I'm a jumble of emotions, nerves and want.

"Not here," He tells me, reluctantly pulling back and pushing a stray curl out of my face. "Not on the couch."

"The bedroom is just around the corner to the left," I tell him, feeling my stomach flutter nervously. Silently, he laces our fingers together and leads me from the couch into my bedroom.

This is happening.

I want to feel guilty, because I am technically still Sheldon's contracted girlfriend, but I am beyond caring. I _want_ this to happen. I swallow, shutting the door behind me, glad that Ricky is occupying himself with the T.V. in the guest bedroom.

"I don't know how to…" I begin, gesturing weakly, feeling abruptly nervous and trying not to panic. Leonard nods, crossing back to me.

"It's okay," He takes my hand again and brings me toward my bed. "Turn around, okay?" I do as I'm told, feeling my face flush with heat as he brings down the zipper of my purple satin dress. At this point, I'm extremely grateful for the excessive amount of Schnapps that is currently coursing through my body and impairing my judgment like a reject of The Real World. I'm not an idiot. I'm a biologist, so I know that in partaking in sexual intercourse for the first time will be somewhat uncomfortable.

"Amy?" Leonard's gentle voice interrupts my thoughts, making me turn my head to face him and I find myself speechless. For once, I have no idea what I should say or do. So, I remain silent as he guides my dress off of my shoulders and it drops to my feet, leaving me in the strapless black bra and panties I purchased at Victoria's Secret last weekend. I watch as Leonard runs a hand through his hair, eyeing me as if he can't really believe this is happening. He meets my eyes and smile wryly. "You've been hiding a body."

"Well, I'm no Penny, but I get by," I answer dryly, folding my arms uncomfortably, making him frown at me.

"No, Amy," he says, sounding a little like he's scolding me, "You _aren't_ Penny. And I'm glad." I stare at him skeptically. How could he possibly be glad? Penny is…radiant. Funny. Confident. Stunning. And I'm…not. "Listen," Leonard says, taking my hand, "I don't _want_ Penny. That's over." Before I can protest, he presses another quick kiss to my lips. I've kissed Leonard more in one night than I have Sheldon in one _year._ And again, I find myself angry, because I've been cheated. I thought I was content just to be his companion, but I am not. I deserve affection. And, even if tonight with Leonard is a one-time occurrence, it's a start. As Penny would say: I'm _so_ over it. Leonard is still talking.

"If you're nervous, or if you don't want to, I under—" He doesn't get anything else out, because I grab him by the collar and crush our lips together. Mama's getting her some sugar. I feel him tense up in surprise, so I pull back to look into his stricken face, and can't help but smirk before pulling him back to me. A moment later we drop onto the bed a mass of limbs, glasses and half removed clothing. Feverishly, I pluck at the buttons of his shirt and vest, hearing him laugh a little as I tug fruitlessly at the unrelenting fabric. "Easy, Sweetie." He calmly reaches up and pulls the shirt off, tossing it aside.

Feeling brave, I reach behind myself and remove my bra, flinging it into the corner of my bedroom and biting my lip as I blush furiously, watching him focus on me. Vague memories of Penny and Bernadette assuring me I have "nice funbags" almost make me laugh, but my nerves get the better of me and I start to cover myself.

"No," Leonard says, taking me by the wrist and guiding me to lie down beside him, "No hiding." I open my mouth to speak, but I close it immediately when I feel the heat of his breath over the peak of my left breast. I close my eyes, feeling shy, unable to watch as he flicks his tongue over the hardened nub, sending a strange thrill through my body.

The remainder of the evening is a bizarre blur of discovery, whispers and heady unexpected passion. For someone who claims to have never been great with women, Leonard knows his way around a woman's body, bringing me to a height even Gerard has never helped me reach. When he finally settles between my trembling legs, ready to move forward and forever change the course of my adult life, I reach up and carefully remove his glasses, setting them neatly on the night table.

"I'm sorry. It might hurt," He tells me, propping himself on his arms. I nod, tightening my grip on his shoulders as he begins his slow, careful invasion of my body. And he's exactly right. It hurts. Nothing unbearable, mind you, but there is a sharp pain and even though I pride myself in being an extremely collected woman, I cry out and feel my eyes burn with unshed tears. "Do you want to stop?" Leonard asks worriedly, sounding dangerously like he's gritting his teeth. I shake my head, unable to voice what I'm trying to convey. "I'm sorry," he says sincerely driving forward and completely filling me.

The pain subsides (thankfully), though there is still a soreness permeating through my body as he goes on, but somehow, it no longer matters, because it just feels so wonderful to be so close to someone. So I cling to him and revel in the pleasure he's feeling and, despite my resolve to remain somewhat impersonal in this endeavor, I can feel it slipping and I can feel myself changing inside. It's then that I know.

Nothing will ever be the same again.

I welcome it.


End file.
